Just Until Sunrise
by tearsofher
Summary: DracoHermione. 'He kissed her like her loved her, held her like he never wanted to let go. But did he really love her? Did he really never want to let go' One shot fic.


Just Until Sunrise  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Draco or Hermione. The song excerpt below is from Jewel, from the song called 'I Won't Walk Away'. I am not in anyway affiliated or associated with Jewel or her record company.  
  
ooooooooooooo  
  
This fic... is really odd. It's really sad, but this offers more perspective from Draco's view, than in Hermione's. This fic... I think, well, it is different from all my other fics. Draco is much more, well, how can I put this? He's... not so mean, but he's not so kind either. This is a very different Draco. Very strange, indeed.  
  
This is about how a secret relationship between Draco and Hermione can leave many things unspoken, and how Draco could possibly change for her, without her knowing so and without him feeling the need to tell her. Like I said, this is a very odd Draco. A very sweet one, though, if I might say so myself. I don't know why I made him so... so quiet. For the first part if Draco's POV, and then Hermione's, and then Draco's for the rest of the fic.  
  
I was rereading and editing this fic, about a day ago, and when he confesses to her... it seems... a bit too fluffy, to me. I don't know, and I tried to change it, but all he says there is what I need him to say, and I don't know how to put it in any other way. How would the real Draco tell someone that he loves her? But well, my Draco is much more odder and different, so I don't really know how I can do this.  
  
I hope you enjoy, anyway.  
  
oooooooooooooo  
  
_...Time can bruise _

_Violet Indigo _

_Rush home to your arms _

_You soothe my weary soul...._  
  
Draco lay motionless, waiting. His eyes were closed and he was still. The dark silk was cool beneath him, caressing his skin and the nape of his neck. He could feel a soft chilly breeze whisper to him, sweeping through the room from the open window.  
  
He could hear the curtains rustle faintly.  
  
Inside his eyelids there was nothing but darkness. He could feel the bitter cold he thought he had become numb to. He let his body relax against the downy sheets, gathering all his scattered thoughts and trying to regain his focus.  
  
He heard the soft creak of the door as it opened slowly. He did not open his eyes. He felt the breeze get slightly stronger, as he heard the door close again as silently and the locks click. He heard weak footsteps on the carpeted floor, getting closer and closer to him. He heard a rustling.  
  
"Draco?" he heard someone whisper.  
  
He opened his eyes slowly.  
  
He sat up unhurriedly and found himself staring at a girl, standing before him. Her deep brown curls graced her shoulders as they fell past only barely, framing her delicate and fair face. Her warm brown eyes were looking at him affectionately, a hint of concern.  
  
He felt something, deep inside him. He looked towards the open window silently, as he saw the midnight sky peeking in. It was still open.  
  
But somehow the coldness of his room had faded.  
  
He looked back at her slowly, his gaze neither harsh nor kind. They were the same gray she remembered. They looked at her so knowingly, though uncertain, at the same time.  
  
"Hermione," he said quietly.  
  
She looked at him, unspoken. Her brown eyes flickered as she tried to search his emotionless and non-revealing stony eyes.  
  
She could not read them. It seemed as if there was a vast and strong barrier that prevented her from peering into the depths of his soul, far too strong she could not penetrate through it no matter how many times she had tried.  
  
She had tried, before. So many times that she had lost count.  
  
And it made her weary. It made her tired.  
  
He didn't want her to see him, all of him. He didn't want her to love him completely, though she had already given all of her heart to him. He would not let her see his faults and embrace him.  
  
Never once had he allowed her to see or touch any of his wounds.  
  
"Draco," she said, her voice almost as quiet and soft as a whisper. "We never speak to each other in the halls. You never look at me." She paused, her voice filled with raw and burdened hurt.  
  
He looked into her eyes. They were glossy, as they filled up with tears.  
  
Hermione could feel her lungs start to burn, her eyes stinging harshly. She looked towards the open window, and she could feel the coldness and chill bite her skin. Her heart was in her throat, in her words.  
  
She didn't know if he knew. He never spoke to her anymore.  
  
He owled her to always meet in his room while everyone was asleep in their dorms. Every night, every day. She received the same note, the same owl tapping on her window. And every night she came. Faithfully and loyally, she came without objections. She never questioned him.  
  
He never talked to her. He only said her name.  
  
He held her and he kissed her.  
  
But never once had he opened up to her. Never once had he told her why he asked her to come every night. Never once had he told her that he needed her, that he loved her.  
  
She didn't know.  
  
She didn't know if he loved her.  
  
"You can't even bear to look at me when everyone else is around, can you?" she asked him, in a whisper as her voice wavered and her lips trembled. Her tears escaped and slipped from her eyes, as she blinked and looked away.  
  
She waited for him. To answer, to even just speak her name.  
  
She was only met with silence.  
  
He didn't respond. He just looked at her. His eyes just as expressionless as before.  
  
She swallowed hard with difficulty as she strived to keep on talking. Her heart seemed to breaking, ripping apart with such vigorous pain and aches.  
  
"I never asked, Draco," she said again, her voice just as soft and fragile. But he could hear it. Her spirit. Just as fragile as her voice was now.  
  
It was breaking.  
  
"I never asked for anything from you. You write to me and I come, every night. I don't know why, I don't ask. I don't know if you're just using me. I don't know what your reason is for having me here." Her voice lessened as it began to severe. "I don't know... I don't know anything about you at all. I don't know how you feel about me," her hurt eyes pleaded at him. "How do you feel about me, Draco?" she asked him, more tears brimming her pained brown eyes.  
  
"What do you feel for me?"  
  
Draco just watched her, not saying a word.  
  
"I'm not just using you," he merely said. "I'm not."  
  
"Then what is it?" she asked him, her voice faint. "What is it? You kiss me and you hold me... and you speak my name... but you never once told me how you feel. Or why you ask me over every night. Why you tell me not to leave. I... All I want is to know. All I want is for you to be honest with me."  
  
She waited for him.  
  
To answer, to respond.  
  
His expression did not change.  
  
She could hear the shatter of her heart inside. The silence beat on it, struck and hammered until it was in pieces.  
  
"Draco?" she asked, her tears slipping into her mouth. "Answer me. Please. Just tell me."  
  
He just stared at her. But his gaze was not empty, or vacant. They were full of something, emotion. But she just didn't know what.  
  
He just wouldn't let her see.  
  
"I need you to answer me," she pleaded softly to the silence that had greeted her. "I need you to tell me, please. I need to know. I can't... We can't keep things this way, Draco. I won't keep coming here every night and leaving, wondering if I am really meant anything to you at all. If you really do feel at least something for me, if it is not love. I need to know, and I need you to tell me. I'm not going to let you..." she paused, as her voice broke and her tears were spilling out faster, "I'm not going to let you do this to me. Play with me, break me. Use me. I'm not going to let you do this. I'm not going to let you break me, if you are not hurting yourself."  
  
"I can't," he said to her, his voice quiet, "tell you what you want to hear." Hermione closed her eyes as she held in her sobs. "I can't, Hermione," he whispered. "You know I can't."  
  
She heard the final piece, the final shard of what was left of her heart, fall and stab deep into the tender and vacant pit of her stomach.  
  
She felt the pain. The ruthless and merciless hands wrap around her throat and try to strangle her.  
  
She tried to take deeper breaths, but they were short and ragged.  
  
The air hurt her lungs but her lungs thirsted for it.  
  
"I can't," he went on, "be what you want me to be."  
  
"Honest?" she asked him, her tears burning her skin. "You can't be honest? Tell me what you honestly feel? I don't want you to be anything else, Draco. I'm not asking you to change. I'm not asking you to be someone else. I love you," she said, raising her hands to wipe away her tears. "And I just need to know if there's something there. Something worth holding onto. Something that can... survive. I just need to know if you love me too. That's all I need to know. Just please, Draco, tell me."  
  
He was silent, as he stood. She watched him, as he kept his eyes on her. But then he turned his back and went over by the open window.  
  
Hermione covered her face with her hands and wept silently, keeping in her sobs. Her lungs felt as if they were about to burst, her hands wet and her palms grazed with her tears.  
  
She didn't know why she loved him. She tried not to. She tried to just keep it what it was, what it seemed to be to him. A fling. Something to forget, something to savor while it lasted and forget about when it ended.  
  
She tried to forget about his kisses. She tried to tell herself that they meant nothing and that they were just acts of foolishness and didn't mean a single thing. She tried to erase her memory of the way he would hold her afterwards, as she looked up at him and see that his eyes were closed. The way he would hold her firmly and tightly, like he did never really want to let go.  
  
And she tried to forget the fact that she had prayed that he wouldn't. That she had wished that he would never pull away from her or unwrap his arms.  
  
And she tried to forget. Everything. That false hope he had sparked inside her that he just burst so painfully. The way the full moon would look down and watch them, spilling its sacred blessed beams from his open window. The way her eyes would close and she would just focus on the mere fact that she could hear and feel him breathing and his heart pounding rhythmically. And the way that she still remembered his scent, like fresh nights and intoxicating winter breezes, and the way his silky hair would tickle against her cheek whenever he held or kissed her that way.  
  
The way he would open his eyes and look at her when she would realize how late it was and untangle herself from his arms. And how he would stand and get up when she did, and walk over to her.  
  
The way he would say,  
  
"I want you to stay," so quietly and softly that she could hear her heart break. "Stay with me. Just until sunrise." His eyes never pleaded at her. His words were never desperate or longing.  
  
But she knew he meant it.  
  
Or at least she tried to convince herself that he did; so many times that she had started to believe in the false truth that she wanted so badly to trust.  
  
She wanted to believe that he wanted to be with her. She wanted to believe that he loved her, just as much as she loved him. That he had grown to love her.  
  
And that it wasn't so complicated when it came to explaining why he asked her to stay or why he kissed her every night and held her so firmly. She just wanted to believe that it could work, because she truly wanted it to.  
  
Because she loved him.  
  
She didn't know why, or how.  
  
Maybe it was the way he said her name and it rang in her ears so pleasantly, and she recalls that no one has ever said her name like he has, though she cannot explain why. Or the way he tasted like she imagined Heaven and forever would taste. Or the way he held her and made her feel so safe and wanted. Loved.  
  
Or maybe it was the way he would never insult her anymore.  
  
He didn't speak to her.  
  
But he never looked at her. She had watched him from afar, and she knew he felt her gaze on him. She knew. She knew that he knew she watched him, just waiting for him to sneak her a glance. Just one glance.  
  
Just one look.  
  
That was all she wanted. That was all it would take to keep her from breaking.  
  
He never did. He never looked at her until she would come to his room at night. And she never asked. She never asked why, or what he thought about, or if he ever thought about her at all.  
  
But somehow, she knew that if she did, he would not answer. Like now.  
  
It was as if his intention was just not for her to know.  
  
As if he was afraid.  
  
But it made her cry harder. What would he be afraid of? What could he possibly be afraid of? The truth? Was he also trying to deny the truth?  
  
Did he want to kiss her, to hold her, to ask her to stay?  
  
Or was all this just an act? But he would have told her. He would have told her exactly what she had wanted to hear, if it was all just an act.  
  
Did he love her?  
  
Did he love her at all?  
  
It broke her heart thinking about it. It parted her thoughts and drove her conscience to fight and battle with her heart.  
  
She did not know.  
  
She wanted to believe that he did.  
  
But she was afraid. Of the truth. She was afraid.  
  
He didn't love her.  
  
She didn't know why she loved him so much that it drove her to tears.  
  
He was so cold.  
  
But in his arms was the only place she found warmth.  
  
He kissed her like he loved her, held her like he never wanted to let go.  
  
He told her to stay with him, just until sunrise. In his voice, he was sincere, not harsh or commanding her to stay.  
  
But she couldn't see it. She couldn't know.  
  
"Draco..." she sobbed. "Please."  
  
She could still see him, standing and staring out the open window.  
  
She cried into her hands, her knees to the soft carpet.  
  
He wasn't going to tell her. He wasn't going to answer.  
  
Just then, she felt soft footfalls coming towards her. She didn't dare look up.  
  
Soon, she felt him by her side. She felt his radiating warmth, the only warmth she found in anyone that could make her feel this way.  
  
She felt warm and soft hands clasp over hers, as they pulled them away from her face. Hermione looked up, the cold night air blowing against her stinging and wet skin.  
  
She saw his eyes. His unwavering, emotionless and steely silver eyes.  
  
He held her hands in his, as she looked down and saw his fingers and palms also stained with her tears.  
  
"Do I mean anything to you at all?" she whispered to him, more tears slipping from her eyes.  
  
In his eyes there was no flicker of emotion, no flicker of anything. He was not transparent in anyway.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said to her, his voice quiet. Hermione felt her heart and lungs heave. "I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear."  
  
Hermione had heard this before. She had heard this before. It broke her heart but she was too numb to feel it anymore.  
  
He never had an answer.  
  
Not for her. Never for her.  
  
Hermione slowly twisted her hands away from his grasp. She bit her lip, trying to keep back her sobs. She shakily got up on her feet, looking down at him through blurred vision as he watched her.  
  
And with one last tearful look, she left.  
  
She didn't utter a goodbye; she didn't utter anything to him at all. With a heavy heart in pieces, and skin and palms full of salty tears, she left him.  
  
Draco watched her was she turned and walked out silently, closing the door neatly behind her. He felt the cutting breeze as she had passed and walked out from his sight.  
  
He stared at the door, his gaze lingering for more than a moment.  
  
He finally looked away and closed his eyes, still on his knees on the floor.  
  
He felt the bitter and frosty cold return. It taunted and mocked him, biting and prickling at his skin. It wrapped its icy hands wrap around the jagged edges of his heart.  
  
He remembered this. This feeling, the coldness. He had felt it every single day of his life.  
  
He hadn't known anything different at all. He knew nothing else. He had always been cold, always felt this same draft that he had numbed to it.  
  
Until she came.  
  
Until Hermione came.  
  
_...Wrong or right _

_Be mine tonight..._  
  
It was different when he was with her. So different that it was frightening at times, but he could not make himself unwrap his arms around her and let her go.  
  
He had changed himself for her.  
  
He didn't know why he had become this way, why he became so distant to everyone that even the professors were worrying about him.  
  
He didn't speak anymore.  
  
Not even to her. Not once had he told her anything new. Not once had he told her that he had changed because of her.  
  
Not once had he told her that he felt nothing but the bitter coldness that was forever trapped inside the walls and the floors of his room and followed him wherever he went. Not once had he told her that he did feel that it was too cold in his room, though she had mentioned it to him more than a few times and closed the window so that he would not get ill.  
  
He opened it again.  
  
Not once had he told her that he liked taking in the pleasant sight of the moon and the midnight sky, even on frosty winter nights. Not once had he told her why he kept the window open every night, only to close it when she left.  
  
Not once had he told her that the moon reminded him of her. It was pure and radiant, dominant amongst the darkest of the dark, and it glowed so godly and heavenly up in the sky. He had never seen anything like it, and each night he would stare out, even if it was just a slice of a smile, and he was reminded of her.  
  
Surrounded by such darkness, yet, it was so prevailing.  
  
The moon was pure and unsoiled. Sinless and virgin.  
  
Just like Hermione.  
  
He didn't know why he never answered her questions. He didn't know why he couldn't stand not having her in his arms, or watching her leave. He didn't know why, each time, he would tell her to stay with him. Just until sunrise.  
  
Maybe it was because he had been cold all of his life and he had just realized it. When he was with her... the bitter frostiness of the room seemed to melt away. She seemed to send warm blood to pump from his heart, thawing away all the frost from inside his heart and body.  
  
It was like she set him free.  
  
But instead of fleeing away... he was so entranced by the feeling of her small and delicate body against his, that he could not move at all. He could never leave her. The way her breaths would shallow and he would feel her pulse as everything went still. The way she smelled, and the way he would bury his face in her soft hair and feel as if there was no where else in the entire world that he would ever want to be.  
  
He didn't know if he loved her.  
  
He didn't know if he knew what love was. He had never experienced it in his life. His father was distant from him, though he was always so near and telling him around. His mother was frail and delicate with strong features and a spine when she was around others. But around Draco she was like a haunting ghost.  
  
She was there, but not to the extent that she really was.  
  
But Draco knew this.  
  
Draco knew that he missed Hermione, and that's why he asked her back every night. He knew that it had to be something deep if he kept writing the same letter and kept waiting at the exact same tick of time of every night. He knew that she did something deep inside him that no one else could ever do. He knew that he liked holding her and that she tasted like the heaven at its sweetest. He knew that every night he found that it was harder and harder to ever let go. He knew that it had become so hard to see her leave.  
  
He knew that he could not look at her in the corridors, or during classes, or during meals, because that would hurt him more and remind him of the fact that he missed her.  
  
She hurt him.  
  
Because he knew that he could never give her what she wanted, or what she dreamed of. He knew that she deserved so much better and knew he should just let her go so that she could be happy... but he just couldn't.  
  
Draco was selfish.  
  
He was such a bloody selfish bastard.  
  
He could not let her go. He could not stand to see her talking to her friends and smiling, because he had never made her smile or laugh.  
  
She wanted him to be honest.  
  
He didn't know what honest was. He didn't know the truth. He didn't have it.  
  
He didn't have what she was looking for; he didn't have what she wanted.  
  
And that's why she left.  
  
It was over. It was over.  
  
He didn't want to believe it, but he had been living in the same cruel reality that he had become so used to the impact. He was numb. He was cold.  
  
Without her, he was heartless.  
  
He had given his heart to her. And she just didn't know it.  
  
He was still on his knees. He had turned away from the window, and he was looking down at his hands. It was dim, but he could still see the shine of the tears that had slipped onto his hands when he had lowered hers.  
  
This was the only trace of her he had left.  
  
She was gone.  
  
Draco did not know what he was feeling. It was heavy and it stung and bit him, pushing him to the ground and beating him until he was tired and wounded. He felt weak, tired, weary. Defeated.  
  
He had never felt this way before.  
  
He missed her already. He wished he could still reach her, and wipe away her tears. He wished that she was still here and he could just hold her again. He wished that she hadn't left him here all alone.  
  
It was still so cold without her beside him.  
  
She had said that she loved him.  
  
He didn't know how, but he had a feeling that he already knew. Maybe it was the fact that he knew that if she didn't, she would have left him months ago. She would have demanded for answers and not have waited until she was at her breaking point. She would not have stayed until sunrise if he had asked. She would not have let him hold her like so and kiss her so gently and softly.  
  
She had been crying, on her knees. She had been hurting so severely.  
  
He wondered if that was what love was. Hurting. Pain. Loss.  
  
He closed his eyes, as he slowly closed his hands.  
  
If that was what love was, then he knew. He knew.  
  
He loved her.  
  
ooooooooooooooooooooooo  
  
Draco sat on the edge of his bed, leaning forward, his elbows propped on his thighs and his hands entwined. His hair fell across his eyes, sweeping his brow.  
  
It had been at least a week.  
  
He no longer knew. He had lost count.  
  
But he had seen her, today, and the days before. He had seen her laughing. He had dared to see her flash one of those breathtaking smiles at her friends.  
  
And he remembered, feeling something break deep inside and stab deep in the pit of his stomach, as he watched her... She was happy. She was happy.  
  
It hurt him, and he realized this. It hurt him so much that he had to look away.  
  
During class he heard her voice.  
  
It stung to remember how soft and gentle her voice was when she said his name. And the way she would speak to him, or even just murmur or sigh at times.  
  
He had lost her.  
  
oooooooooooooooooooo  
  
Draco missed her.  
  
Each day, his room seemed to be getting colder and colder. It only reminded him of the warmth she once gave to him.  
  
His window had been closed ever since. The curtains were drawn. And each time, as he came back to his room, he would shut the door silently and sit down on his bed.  
  
Thinking about her.  
  
The darkness was something he had been fond of and grown accustomed to, but the looming shadows seemed to trigger memories.  
  
He began to see her.  
  
He began to see what had passed, what he wanted back.  
  
He began to hurt more and more each day, seeing her and remembering that he would not be getting a chance to hold her that night.  
  
Or any other night after that.  
  
His room became icy, but he still came there each day and never picked up his wand to enact a heating spell.  
  
He never turned on the light, or opened the window.  
  
He knew it would make no difference. The room would never become warm enough.  
  
Because she was not here. She was gone.  
  
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo  
  
Draco walked slowly amongst the tall shelves stack with books. His footsteps were silent, as his eyes passed each shelf, unwavering.  
  
He did not know why he was here.  
  
He had not been here because he knew that it reminded him of her and only taunt him of his loss.  
  
The Library was quiet. He was almost so sure that no one was here, yet, he was trailing by each shelf, his eyes fixed on searching.  
  
Maybe it was because he knew she was going to be here.  
  
And he just wanted to see her one last time.  
  
Maybe he thought that was all he needed to move on.  
  
The Library was deserted. It was almost curfew, and he knew that his other peers were heading up to their dormitories. He wanted to stop, turn away and just walk out... but his heart was tugging at him and insisting.  
  
He neared the last shelves, as he continued walking.  
  
His heart silenced as his eyes suddenly froze and he halted in his step.  
  
It was her.  
  
She was sitting down on the crimson carpet, a book in her hand.  
  
He turned slowly, as he watched her. Her brown hair had fallen forwards, so that he could not see her face. But as his eyes roamed her small and delicate frame, he noticed that she was gently shaking. He watched as she raised her pale hand to her face, and watched as the same hand came down.  
  
It was wet.  
  
She was crying.  
  
"Hermione?" he said quietly. She froze instantly, but a moment later, she was wiping away her tears hastily. She turned her head in his direction, towards the end of the shelf.  
  
Her brown eyes were dark and puffy, brimmed red around the edges.  
  
He walked towards her, his footsteps still so quiet. She closed her book as she grasped it with one hand on the edge and got up slowly.  
  
Her eyes seemed to be glued to the floor, as if ashamed. Draco stopped just a foot away from her.  
  
He felt something erupt in him, like whispers and calls.  
  
But it was not for him.  
  
It was for her.  
  
"Hermione..." he said quietly, as her she closed her eyes and turned away. "Hermione, please, look at me."  
  
She opened her eyes and looked at him, her brown eyes hurt and solemn.  
  
"I..." he faltered, not knowing what to say. He hadn't planned on speaking to her. He didn't know what he should say to her.  
  
But then he knew.  
  
The truth.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said to her. Hermione's eyes filled with tears again, as she stepped to the side and Draco blocked her way.  
  
"Please, Draco," she said, her voice shaky, "I need to get back to my room. It's almost curfew."  
  
"Please, just listen to me," he whispered to her, pleading. "Just listen to me." She let out a ragged breath and looked up at him, uncertain.  
  
"I didn't know," he started, "what the truth was. I didn't know what I was privileged to say and what was the truth. I only knew what you wanted to hear. But I didn't have it, Hermione. I didn't understand it, I didn't have it. The truth had been out of my reach. But what I do know is that..." he paused, looking into her eyes and taking a step closer. "I can't bear to see you cry, and it hurts me so much to know that I was the one who made you. I know that I miss you when you're not with me. And I ask you to stay because I can't stand to feel you untangle from my arms and leave, and I can't bear to miss you, because it hurts and I've never felt that way before. I can never look at you in the corridors or at meals because you're always laughing and smiling, and it reminds me that I'm still missing you... and hurts me to think that I've never once made you act that way. I've never once made you happy."  
  
"Draco, that's not true," she said, tears filling up her eyes once again and pouring down her cheeks. Her voice was soft and fragile. "That's not true at all."  
  
"Hermione," he whispered. "I've never known anything else. I've never noticed the difference... Until I'm with you, Hermione," he said, as she lowered his gaze and he raised his hand to her chin and lifted her eyes to his. "Because when I'm with you, it's different, Hermione. It's different. I don't feel cold. I don't feel the drafts or the increasing winds. I'm..." she stared up into his eyes, and he felt something melt deep inside him. "I'm warm. I'm happy. I need you there, I need you with me. I need you, Hermione."  
  
He watched as another tear rolled down her cheek, and he caressed her cheek and gently swiped it away with his finger.  
  
"I didn't know it before," he whispered to her. "I didn't realize it. But I know now, Hermione. I love you."  
  
_...Harsh world be damned _

_We'll make a stand _

_Love can bind _

_But mine is blind _

_Others stray _

_But I won't _

_Walk away _

_Walk away..._


End file.
